


Making Up is Hard to Do

by spurious



Category: Kanjani8 (Band)
Genre: Fights, M/M, Makeup Sex, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spurious/pseuds/spurious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yoko and Hina make up, eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Up is Hard to Do

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "make up sex" on my smut meme. This got way out of hand for a smut meme fill so I'm posting it like a regular fic XD

Yoko’s not even sure what they’d fought about. It had begun as something about work, but they’d both started yelling and it spiraled out into the two of them listing every tiny little thing that had been bothering them for the past year and a half or so. Yoko remembers shouting "I hate how nice your hair is," and Hina countering with "It’s stupid how your skin is so soft." He chalks most of it up to stress, pent-up frustration, but he’s not sure, now, how long he’ll have to wait until it’s okay to talk to Hina again, much less do some of the…other stuff they do, sometimes.

The problem, now, is that Yoko’s left his DS at Hina’s apartment. He has a key, so he should be able to get in and retrieve it without Hina even knowing. He goes over on Wednesday night, when Hina should be out with some of his soccer friends. Yoko eases the door open slowly, his heart racing, even though he knows Hina won’t be there.

He’s taking off his shoes in the entryway when he notices Hina’s soccer shoes sitting neatly next to a pair of dress shoes. Yoko freezes, trying not to make any noise. Maybe, he thinks, he can get out of there before Hina realizes he’s there. He’s got his hand on the doorknob when Hina appears at the end of the hall. He’s wearing an apron and rubber gloves and he looks utterly ridiculous; Yoko fights down the part of him that’s thinking how adorable he is.

"Your DS is in the living room," Hina says, then turns and goes back into the kitchen.

Yoko’s DS is sitting on a low table in front of Hina’s couch, on top of a folded-up t-shirt that he doesn’t remember having left there. He slips the DS into his pocket, picks up the shirt, and walks into Hina’s kitchen before he has time to think better of it.

Hina’s back is to Yoko; he’s scrubbing intently at a spot on the stove. He doesn’t move to acknowledge that Yoko’s there, so Yoko stands in the doorway for half a minute, trying to think of something to say.

"Thanks," he manages, eventually. Hina makes a noncommittal sound, but otherwise continues to ignore him, and Yoko feels the anger that he’d thought he’d gotten out of his system flare up again. He clenches his fist around the t-shirt, gritting his teeth.

"You’re _so_ —" Yoko begins, then cuts himself off because he doesn’t know where he was going, starts again, "I don’t know how I put up with you."

Hina laughs, then. Actually _laughs_. "You don’t know how you put up with me?" he says. "Seriously?" He still hasn’t turned around, but he’s stopped scrubbing the stove, so Yoko counts it as half a victory.

"Fine," Yoko says, "I don’t know how I put up with you, you don’t know how you put up with me, why do we even bother?"

"So, what," Hina says, "you want to break up?"

"We weren’t _dating_ ," Yoko says, the pitch of his voice rising. He can feel his face turn red at the suggestion; what he and Hina are—were—doing definitely isn’t dating. He’d never _date_ Hina.

"What would you call it, then? We have toothbrushes at each other’s places, we have sex, we’re not sleeping with anyone else, we have fights over stupid shit like this." Hina turns around, crosses his arms. "Maybe you haven’t had much experience, but I’d pretty much call what we do dating."

"I’ve dated plenty," Yoko grumbles. He hasn’t, really, but he’s annoyed at Hina’s bringing it up. "And that doesn’t have anything to do with this anyway because we _weren’t_ , and it’s stupid that we’re talking about it."

"God, you’re an idiot," Hina says, shaking his head.

"I’m not the idiot here!" Yoko insists.

"If you wanna know _why_ you haven’t dated much, this is a pretty good example," Hina says, going quieter. "And the whole ‘in denial about my sexuality’ thing really isn’t cute at your age."

"Is that what this is about?" Yoko says. "What, you want us to come out, or something?"

Hina makes a face. "Do you really think I’m that stupid? I’m just sick of pretending even when we’re alone together."

"What does that even mean?"

"I don't care about telling anyone else," Hina says, rubbing a hand over his face, "this is so dumb, I can't believe we're even having this conversation."

"You're the one who started having the conversation in the first place," Yoko spits. "I should have just left."

"I'm not forcing you to stay," Hina says, turning back to the stove.

Anger still boiling under his skin, Yoko doesn't think before turning to leave. He drops his key onto the table by Hina's entryway, on top of a pile of mail, and slams the door on his way out.

In his car, Yoko cranks up the music and rolls the windows down. The night air is crisp and cold on his face, just uncomfortable enough to be a distraction. It's hard to keep himself too distracted, though; the route from Hina's apartment to his own is easy and familiar, something Yoko's driven countless times. It doesn't require a huge amount of his concentration, and he finds his mind replaying the conversation he'd had with Hina.

Yoko doesn't know what Hina wants from him, what he'd meant by bringing up dating when he knows as well as Yoko does that even if they wanted to, they _couldn't_. They can be friends, they can be groupmates, they can fool around sometimes because it's easy and convenient, but they can't date or fall in love; it's the way things are, and Hina's an idiot to try to pretend it's not. Yoko doesn't understand what was wrong with the way they were: it was almost comfortable, sometimes. He tightens his hands on the steering wheel, trying to calm the churning anxiety in his stomach.

 

They don't speak to each other in the dressing room the next morning. They exchange greetings because there are other people around, but as soon as they're left to their own devices they ignore each other pointedly. Yoko thinks of about a million things to say to continue their fight, but he knows it's not the place for it, so he just lets them all stew in his mind. He thinks about the things Hina said and feels angry and confused, unsure how a stupid fight escalated into something so monumental but now determined not to lose. The quiet in the greenroom feels thick, descending over them and making the room seem cavernously spacious.

They're both professional enough to act relatively normal on air, though for Yoko the tension is palpable every time they so much as stand next to each other. He shoves it down, out of his mind, and does his best to act like his usual self. Hina hits him harder than usual, but other than that he's the same, too.

"Careful," Yoko whines, "I'm gonna get bruises!"

Everyone laughs, but Hina catches Yoko's eye and gives him this little half-smirk, and Yoko wants to strangle him.

 

They don't really get a moment alone until Yoko corners Hina in the hallway of the Bunka Housou studio. They've got five minutes, by Yoko's estimate, until they have to be back on the air. He knows Hina's got to be frustrated, too; ignoring things like this just isn't his style.

"What is it?" Hina says, voice low, when Yoko stands in the middle of the hall, blocking Hina's way. Yoko steps closer, anger filling him with false bravado. All the things he'd wanted to say have left his mind; mostly he wants to hit Hina, or shake him, make him explain and make him see why he's wrong. He digs his fingernails into his sweaty palms, breathing shaky.

"What did you mean," he starts, "yesterday?" He casts a look around, checking to see if they're alone. "About pretending?"

Yoko watches Hina's expression change from cautious to confused, and then barrel straight into angry.

"You really don't get it?" he says. His voice is quiet, but he's shouting with his tone, and Yoko feels himself shrink back a little. "You're a lot better at fooling yourself than I thought."

"Stop being so fucking cryptic," Yoko says, voice raising a little, but Hina just brushes past him.

 

Yoko tells himself he tried, that it's Hina's turn to make a move next, but what he doesn't expect is to arrive home at a little past two in the morning and see Hina's shoes sitting in his entryway.

"How the hell did you get here before me?" he says, without thinking. He hears Hina laughing, and it's almost comfortable again, until Yoko's slammed in the chest with anger and stress and tiredness. Why did Hina have to choose _now_ to continue their fight?

"Have you thought about it at all?" Hina says when Yoko walks into the living room. He's sitting on Yoko's couch, looking like he's made himself comfortable, and Yoko's stomach twists with annoyance that Hina's somehow made Yoko's apartment feel like it's his own space.

"Yes," Yoko says. "You're being an idiot, is what I think."

"Maybe you're right," Hina says, "I'd have to be, to put up with how dense you can be."

Yoko heaves a sigh, shifting his weight. "I don't usually have to read between the lines with you."

"Fine," Hina says, "fine." He stands up. "Let me be a little more clear."

He crosses the room and grabs Yoko's wrist, yanking him forward and crushing their lips together. The kiss is intense, both of them throwing all of their pent-up energy into it. Hina squeezes Yoko's wrist hard, Yoko rakes his fingers through Hina's hair. When they pull back, they're both panting and Yoko has no idea what kind of point Hina was trying to make, but he can't bring himself to care very much. He wedges his knee between Hina's thighs, feeling his cock getting hard against Yoko's hipbone, and Hina pants against Yoko's cheek. He brings his free hand up to the back of Yoko's neck, gripping just hard enough to be uncomfortable. Yoko casts his eyes down and watches Hina's tongue as he wets his lips. He's just about to lean in and kiss him again when Hina speaks.

"I'm tired of pretending this is all this is about," he says breathlessly.

"What _else_ is it about?" Yoko says. His hips are moving of their own accord, rutting his cock against Hina's stomach. He closes his eyes and swallows hard.

Hina leans forward so his forehead is pressed to Yoko's, his skin hot and damp. "Feelings," he grumbles, "moron."

Yoko shrinks away automatically, shaking his head, but Hina won't let him go. He meets Yoko's eyes, looking more open and vulnerable than Yoko's ever seen him, which is kind of terrifying.

"I'm not looking for a confession or something," he says after a moment. "Just tell me it's not just me."

Yoko takes a step back, and this time Hina's grip on him loosens, but he still doesn't let go.

"I don't—" Yoko starts.

" _Bullshit_ ," Hina interrupts, vulnerability gone. He pulls Yoko back in so their bodies are pressed together, so Yoko can feel Hina's breath hot against his lips.

"We—" Yoko says, but he's cut off by Hina's fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck and yanking his head back.

"If you fucking say 'we can't,' I swear I'm going to hit you," Hina says. He leans in to mouth at the exposed skin of Yoko's neck, not biting but close to it. "We can," he says against Yoko's skin, "we _have been_ , so don't give me that kind of cop-out answer."

Hina's teeth scrape the thin skin over Yoko's racing pulse and he gasps. He lets go of Yoko's hair, but Yoko keeps his neck arched, panting, as Hina reaches between them to unbutton Yoko's fly, curling his fingers under the waistband of his underwear. Yoko grips the back of Hina's shirt with the hand that's not pinned to his side, trying to force his mind to work as Hina tugs his pants down.

"It's hard to give you _any_ kind of answer," Yoko forces out, "when you keep interrupting me." He feels the vibration of Hina laughing against his throat as he palms over Yoko's erection through his underwear, making his hips twitch forward.

"Fine," Hina says, "go ahead."

Hina tugs at Yoko's underwear, cotton dragging rough over the already-wet head of his cock, and he swallows back a whimper. It's almost impossible to think in this state, worked up first from fighting and now from Hina's insistent touching, but Yoko tries anyway, tries to be honest and to think past the mental walls he's put up around the idea of his relationship with Hina.

"It's simple," Hina says impatiently. He's got his mouth under Yoko's left ear, the sound of his voice making Yoko shiver. "Either you have feelings or you don't."

"I do," Yoko says, without thinking. He drags his hand down the line of Hina's spine, feeling the skin hot through his shirt, then pushes his fingers up under the hem. Hina exhales against his skin, and Yoko wonders how much of it is pleasure and how much is relief.

"Okay," Hina says. "Good."

"I don't really know what difference you think it'll make," Yoko says. He regrets the words before they're even all the way out of his mouth. Hina stops sucking on Yoko's neck to pull back, and Yoko opens his eyes just a bit. He expects Hina to look mad, but he mostly looks thoughtful.

"I don't really either," he says, mouth twisting, "at least we can stop giving dumb excuses for being at each other's places?"

Hina's grip on Yoko's wrist loosens, and he swipes his palm over the back of Yoko's hand, grinning at him with his ridiculous smile and his ridiculous cute eyes. Yoko laughs, framing Hina's face with his hands and kissing him.

Ten minutes later, when Yoko's lying on his back on his futon and Hina's licking at his cock while he fingers him, he stops, looks up at Yoko.

"I knew you felt something too," he says, half smug and half delighted.

"Gloating," Yoko says, breath hitching when Hina twists his fingers, "is really not attractive on you."

Hina huffs a laugh, and Yoko sighs, shifting so Hina's fingers brush the right spot. His eyes flutter shut and he reaches for his cock, still wet with Hina's spit.

"Come on," Yoko urges, "it's like four in the morning, hurry up."

"So romantic," Hina says, rolling a condom down his cock and nudging Yoko's thighs apart.

Yoko means to say something, but he's cut off by Hina pushing into him. He groans, reaching up to clutch at Hina's bicep. It's been less than a week since they'd last had sex, but with the fight stretched out in between it seems like it was longer, long enough that Yoko had forgotten how good it feels with Hina. He pulls him down to kiss him, and Hina bites at Yoko's lower lip while he fucks him slowly. Yoko jerks himself off, panting into Hina's mouth, and Hina pulls back, thrusting in deeper.

Yoko watches HIna's face while his eyes are closed, his pink mouth open to pant, sweat on his forehead. He looks at Hina's body, the muscles shifting and flexing under his skin as he moves. He watches Hina until he's overwhelmed by the rush of affection and closes his eyes, muttering "touch me" and taking his hand off his cock. Hina obliges, his hand firm and hot around Yoko's cock. It only takes a few strokes before he's coming, arching and gasping.

"Fuck," Hina says, his voice strained, "I'm gonna come." He digs his fingers into Yoko's thigh, speeding up. "Look at me," he breathes, and Yoko opens his eyes. He meets Hina's gaze, and just when it's getting to be too much and he wants to look away, Hina's squeezing his eyes shut and coming.

He collapses on top of Yoko, panting, and Yoko waits almost a full minute before shoving at his shoulders and complaining that he's crushing him. It's not much different than it would have been before, but it feels comfortable, and Yoko lets himself think for a minute that maybe he could get used to this, or that maybe he's already gotten used to it.


End file.
